


I Think I’m Gonna Shine in the Afterlife

by theshipsfirstmate



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Followup, Kidnapping, Torture, season 4 spec, souffle spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipsfirstmate/pseuds/theshipsfirstmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to "Even the Stars Go Right Over Our Head." Oliver's POV. An angstier look at the souffle spoilers.</p><p>"He think it’s been about three days when he starts to lose it a little."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I’m Gonna Shine in the Afterlife

_A/N: Follow-up to[Even the Stars Go Right Over Our Head](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4865633). Oliver's POV.  
_

_Warning: There is some vague description of torture in here. Nothing too graphic, but wanted to give heads up.  
_

**I Think I’m Gonna Shine in the Afterlife**

He think it’s been about three days when he starts to lose it a little

It’s not the first time he’s been tortured, not even the second. He milks that irony for a while in his mind, wondering what a therapist might have to say to a man who can rank his instances of torture based on brutality, blood spilled, style points.

This time around is worse in some ways. Because of her, and because of _him_. Regular guys get awkward rounds of golf with the father of the woman they love. Oliver Queen, of course, gets bound and caged, electrocuted, waterboarded.

It’s also different this time, because he’s different.

Ollie Queen, the boy who landed on the island, learned quickly that the easiest way to live through torture was to think of no one. To be nothing to anyone. He had carried around a picture of Laurel like a totem, but that connection had faded with his sense of self, that link to his past life obliterated with the belief that he could ever return to it.

But he’s something else now, _someone_ else, and there was only one thing on his mind, the reason for living that won’t let him detach entirely.

* * *

_“Felicity.”_

The irony is more bitter than bile in his mouth when he realizes they’re both going to try and use her to break one another. But the benefit of an opponent whose main objective isn’t him is leverage that comes with lack of focus. Felicity’s father might be feared by Ra’s al Ghul, but he’s not the the only torture expert in the room. Also, Oliver notes with a hint of pride, he might be a hacker too, but he’s not better than Felicity.

“She’s stubborn,” the man observes, slamming his tablet down on one of the metal tables that surround the room on what must be day four.

“She’s strong,” Oliver corrects him. It feels like nails in his throat, it’s been at least a day since he’s been given anything to drink. “No thanks to you.”

“Everyone has their weak spots,” the man sneers.

Oliver’s heart breaks a little in that moment for Donna Smoak, with her spine like steel, wondering how much of herself she had given to this monster, wondering if, when he left, she had feared more for the two of them left behind or the possibility of his return.

“You’ll never get close to her.” The thought of young Felicity drops his voice to grating steel. “You’re never even gonna lay eyes on her.”

The man just smiles, and turns one of the large monitors at his computer workstation and Oliver sees Felicity, she’s right there, sitting in an armchair in the Diggles’ apartment. His whole body hurts, but it’s nothing compared to seeing her small and scared, her usual sunshine hidden behind a black cloud of fear and palpable anger.

Her father thinks that showing him this will break him. But it heals him, too. She’s safe, and she’s with John, and that’s the best case scenario for all of them. Before he turns the monitor back, Oliver catches a glimpse of Thea carrying around baby Sara and his heart splits and mends itself in the same moment.

He never lets the man see him break, but when he leaves the room for moments that could be hours, Oliver allows himself to lose it – tearing at the walls of his cage, seeing Felicity in the clutches of a madman, his sister bleeding out in their apartment, Tommy dying right in front of him. He can’t save anyone if he can’t save himself, and he’s running out of time.

* * *

“I’m going to marry her.” He spits it in his captor’s face the next day, with a probably not-so-healthy amount of blood, and it almost makes the man snap and pull another one of his teeth out.

“You’re not going to marry her,” he mutters instead, readying his camera with fast, frantic movements.“You’re not even going to live through the week. They’ve given up on you, all of them.”

Oliver laughs, as loud as he can, boisterous, and fake. He’s so close to breaking him. “You don’t know her at at all, not even a little bit. You’ll never know her.”

One of the last fully lucid thoughts he has is of a crushed velvet bag in his sock drawer, of fallen souffles and blown chances. She could have been his _wife_ by now.

* * *

He’s in and out of consciousness after that, but when a wall comes crashing down beside him, it’s a shot of his adrenaline to his still battle-ready body. He forces his beaten frame to his feet, but it’s too much and he nearly topples back over, until suddenly, like some miracle he doesn’t deserve, there’s a flash of red and black leather and Digg’s got him in a fireman’s carry.

His friend gets him close enough to the entrance to put him on a waiting stretcher, and it’s only then that Oliver realizes that no one’s coming after them. It’s over, and he’s alive.

And then she’s there, and the feeling of the fresh air and sunshine on his face is nothing compared to the feeling of her fingers in his hair, her lips pressing down as she pulls him against her chest.

“Felicity.” The word sends shards of glass scraping down his raw throat, but he wants to say it forever.

“Yeah, baby, I’m right here.” He can’t tell which one of them is shaking, probably both. He latches onto a chain that’s hanging around her neck, and it further confuses him. But there’s no time to worry about when she started wearing it. If she’s real, he needs to ask her now.

He tugs on the chain with all the strength he’s got left and the second her eyes meet his, he manages two more words. “Marry me.”

His vision’s starting to blur out, but he’ll remember her sad, brilliant smile for the rest of his life. She drops her head down next to his and whispers her answer in his ear, the sweetest goodnight.

_“Yes.”_

* * *

He wakes up in a hospital bed, and he doesn’t know what day it is, but he knows he’s not alone. She’s fast asleep tucked in beside him, blissfully warm against his aching body, heartbreakingly beautiful even in her obvious exhaustion. There’s a worried crease between her eyebrows, fixed even as she slumbers, and an empty cot beside the bed he can almost hear her refusing. There isn’t a road trip long enough to heal this hurt, not this time.

He smooths her hair back from her face and his eyes catch on the chain around her neck. For a second, there’s a brief memory of his rescue, of wondering what was real and what was a trick of his battered brain. But never in his greatest dreams, in his wildest hallucinations, did he expect to tug the chain gently from under her shirt and see his ring hanging from it. He drops it to his into his palm and his heart thuds when he feels it, still warm from her body heat.

“You should get that thing on her finger properly, so I can get my chain back.” A voice draws his attention to the plastic chairs by the doors, where John sits up from a slump, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“The crazy thing is, I think I might have asked her already.” He allows them small smiles at that, allows himself one tiny moment of contentment as he slides the chain slowly over her head. She barely stirs, snuggling back into the crook of his arm. One more sad smile, then he turns back to his friend.

“John…”

The man stands defensively, like he’s been put on guard at just the sound of his name.

“Oliver, we don’t need to do this right now.”

“Yes, we do.” His friends brow furrows, but he doesn’t argue any further.

“John, you’ve put your life on the line for my family so many times,” Oliver starts, painful breath stuttering at some of the memories. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to yours. And you should know that I don’t expect you to.”

“You saved the whole city, Oliver,” his friend answers softly, approaching his bedside and taking the chain from where he’s fumbling to open the clasp with his one free hand. “I’m not too stubborn to understand what that means.”

“Still,” Oliver protests, the need for total absolution pulling at him tighter and more painfully than the stitches he can feel running down his side. ”Your wife, your _daughter_ …”

“Yeah, that’s a special kind of terror,” John sighs, casting a glance at the ring in his palm, then back at Felicity, who’s still fast asleep, a true testament to her exhaustion. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Oliver doesn’t answer, struck dumb at the thought of a little blonde girl with glasses.

“I worry about Lyla,” his friend says with a nod, as he pulls a pair of dog tags from the breast pocket of his coat, sliding them onto the chain before he slips it back over his head, patting them twice as they settle on his chest. “But I don’t worry about her ability to take care of herself. Sara, on the other hand…”

“I swear to you, John, Maseo was in the apartment until you guys came in the door,” he’s pleading for forgiveness with the one card he has left to play, knowing full well it’s nowhere close to enough. “She wasn’t alone for a second. It doesn’t fix it, I know, but I…:”

John cuts him off with just a nod, stepping forward to hand the ring back. Oliver knows he’s right, it doesn’t fix it, but it’s like the room gets a few shades lighter then. It’s the first time he lets himself believe that they’ll get through whatever comes next, together.

“I’m gonna go let everyone know you’re awake,” his friend says as he turns for the door. “But we’ll give you two a few minutes.”

They share a nod then, a simple gesture that feels loaded, and Oliver turns back the woman in his arms. Her hands are tucked under her chin, he could just slide the thing on, she already knows after all. But the second he starts fiddling with her fingers, she finally stirs.

“Mmm, you can still put it in a souffle if you want,” she murmurs, half-awake. “I can wait.”

He can’t help but smile, even as he shakes his head down at her. Her eyes are open now, blinking up at him, bright and shining with just a small smudge of worry, a million times more brilliant than he saw in his fever dreams. “No more waiting.”

“Okay.” She nods, pursing her lips. He kisses them back apart, then pulls back to look at her.

“Felicity?”

He’s got to, just one more time, because he loves her more than anything, more than life and death and all the in-between he’s known.

“Yes?”

He’s got to, just one more time, just so he knows it’s real, so he can feel his ring slide onto her finger.

“Marry me?”

He’s got to, just one more time, so he can see her face when she says…

_“Yes.”_

* * *

 

_A/N: Nearly two thousand words and I still couldn’t get him out of the hospital bed. I mean._


End file.
